where baby red-winged blackbirds
splash in shady spots
where plump bumblebees burrow
into hostas' fragrant flowers
where sneaky squirrels steal sour fruit
from the ancient apple tree
where black swallowtails float
above purple phlox
where sphinx moths sip from beebalm
the color of raspberry wine
where the garden beckons
offering herself to all.
I am out of words today. Weighed down with grief, I watch as the powerful betray everyone else, and words of resilience and hope are not ready at hand. Thankfully, I have a garden and live among the wild ones who come to share it. It is with both, who have no notion of a nation’s struggle, that my mind can momentarily rest.
Today, instead of words, here are glimpses of the gifts that are still here, waiting to be noticed.
Swamp milkweed, bees and beetles
As the vixen screams in the darkeness from the field across the road
I acknowledge the gift I've been given.
As the red-headed woodpecker calls from a black locust in the back woods
I realize I have been heard.
As tree swallows swoop above waving meadow grasses
for a moment I am living in Eden.
As the oriole's sweet song floats from the treetops
I lift my own quiet song of thanksgiving.
As the catbird chatters into the evening
I know I am where I belong, after all.
"O God, you have searched me and you know me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me to comprehend."
Psalm 139
In the distance a barred owl sings
to the dark of a summer night
calling to his mate
or offspring.
Or perhaps he announces to the world
he is still here.
As are you.
Take courage.
Take heart.
The day will dawn when we can rest.
Yet her life blood flowed
and her limbs were strong
and in the alchemy
of her intention
new buds formed
and opened one by one.
The bees
returned.
Yet comes the day the garden morphs
as stems tilt and blossoms tire
and with a sigh for beauty spent
she takes the past in hand
clears away faded debris
making room for all
that is to come.
In honor of the 5 years of spring in this place we've been given.
or the red fox in the field across the street
or the merlin in the front yard
and the fox sparrows in the back
or the tundra swans
or the bald eagle sailing through the yard
with prey clutched
in its talons.
I didn't think to ask for toads
and tadpoles
and spotted salamander eggs
in the old backyard pond we inherited
or the raccoons who come
to wash their food
at night.
I didn't think to ask for the two columbines
or the ancient peonies
or the softest soil I have ever worked.
Or that I might bring
redemption to this land
and blessing to those
who loved it
long before.
For all I didn't think to ask...
Thank You.
